


(damn) i wish i was your lover

by mr_charles



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, based on Park Chan Wook's "The Handmaiden"
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2018-10-25 03:07:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10755474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_charles/pseuds/mr_charles
Summary: when conman Harry Hardyng decides to pull a con on Lord Baelish's beautiful, yet frozen, niece Lady Sansa, he employs a fellow thief named Jeyne to pose as the Lady's handmaiden and guide her into Hardyng's arms.Jeyne expected an easy con. she didn't expect to fall for her Lady.(based on the film "The Handmaiden")





	1. Chapter 1

The job was simple. Pose as Lady Sansa’s handmaiden and gently guide her into Harry’s open arms. The morning after the grand wedding, and after Harry had the Lady, she would be dumped in the nearest asylum while Jeyne and Harry split the Lady’s fortune.

The Lady’s previous maid, a kind thing named Margaery, had been easily disposed of. She was equally starved for masculine affection and sweets, which Harry could give the girl in spades. When Sansa’s uncle, Lord Baelish, caught the girl with powdered sugar on her lips and Harry’s seed on her thighs, she was quickly expelled from the grounds. When Harry came across the Lord’s sprawling grounds with a poor, out of work handmaiden, Baelish eagerly accepted Jeyne into the mansion.

And what a queer thing that mansion was. Half Dornish, half Valyrian with Yi Ti artwork and Qarth rugs. An older housemaid showed Jeyne her new robes and turned her back as Jeyne slipped into the dark blue fabric.

“The Lady is through there,” the older woman said politely with a plastic smile, pointing to a set of gilded doors. “And your room is here,” she continued, opening a small door across the hall from those gilded doors. There was nothing in the alcove but a sleeping pallet and a small closet. Jeyne wrinkled her nose but said nothing. Instead she opened the gilded doors, which were much heavier than she had anticipated, and looked at the back of her Lady’s head. 

Sansa _hmm_ ’d over the letter in her hands, barely casting a glance at Jeyne. Harry had bragged about the Lady’s beauty, but no words from his wide frog mouth could do the Lady justice. Her skin was pale, so pale that she looked cold to the touch. The sleeves of her dress were short, but she wore long gloves that barely exposed her arms. Sapphires and amethysts gleamed from her heavy necklace, and one gloved hand toyed with it as she read. Her hair was red and thick, and she wore it in a tight knot at the base of her neck. 

“Can you read this to me?” Sansa asked, her voice soft. “I can’t read Valyrian.”

_Shit_ , Jeyne thought as she took the letter. She didn’t speak Valyrian but she wasn’t about to let her Lady know that. _What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her_.

“It says that I am your new handmaiden!” Jeyne said brightly, recognizing her name in the letter. “It’s a letter of recommendation from my former Lady, Lady Arryn of the Vale!”

“Do you know the Count?” Sansa asked, blue eyes looking out the wide window. “He arrived when you did.”

“Harry?” 

Sansa’s glance was on her, harsh and with a hint of cruelty within. “Is Harry the Count?”

Jeyne felt her skin burn red. “Oh no! Harry was…another Count I knew! Back in the Vale! I knew lots of Counts in the Vale. We had Mormont counts and Wilding Counts, and I even met a Dothraki Count once! But I don’t know anything about a Count here! I thought your Uncle was the Count!” She felt herself babbling. 

“My Uncle,” Sansa said, voice sharp with anger. “is _nothing_. He bought his status when the Lannisters took over and only married my Aunt for her title.”

“I haven’t met your Aunt yet!”

“She’s dead.” Sansa said, looking out the window again. “They’re all dead.”

The silence was heavy and awkward. Jeyne started at her feet, in new navy blue silk slippers. Somewhere in Sansa’s room, a clock chimed. The noise was sudden and Jeyne jumped.

“It’s time for dinner,” Sansa announced, standing up. “I need you to help me dress.” 

Jeyne swallowed heavily as Sansa began working at the ties of her dress, letting the fine fabric fall to the floor at her feet.

_Harry should have told me she was so pretty._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> overuse of the word "fine" within

“My Lady!” Jeyne gasped as she pulled apart the two halves of Sansa’s corset. “Your skin!”

Sansa absentminded reached and rubbed the marks on her back, the stark black of her gloves looking obscene against the reddened marks on her pale skin. “You’ve never worn a corset?” she asked.

“No, my Lady. These are fine garments for a Lady. I am just a handmaiden.”

Something that might have been a laugh escaped Sansa’s mouth as she turned to face Jeyne. Jeyne tried not to look at Sansa’s small breasts, pert with coral nipples. Mouthwatering. Instead she gasped as Sansa pulled at the ties on her robes. “My Lady!”

Sansa smiled, playful and mischievous. “For tonight, we can pretend you’re my Lady and I am your handmaiden!” She pulled the fabric from Jeyne’s shoulders and Jeyne covered herself with her arms as Sansa pulled undergarments from her armoire. Sansa was unabashed in her nudity, wearing nothing but soft stockings and silken tap pants, her black velvet gloves still pulled high on her arms. Jeyne was acutely aware of her own crude cotton undergarments, briefly thinking of the thick wad of money that Harry promised her in just a few short weeks. She looked again at Sansa and thought of the trash she knew back home. Sansa didn't belong in an asylum with those people. 

Sansa was a Lady. 

“Here,” her Lady held up a white band with straps. “Put this on.” Jeyne knit her brows in confusion and Sansa gasped. “I’m sorry, my Lady!” Sansa cast her gaze down. “I am your new handmaiden, Sansa. May I help you dress?”

Jeyne giggled at their games and nodded. “Yes, my maid, you may dress me.” She couldn't keep herself from giggling and, at times, outright laughing as Sansa laced up the bra and wrapped the fine fabric of the discarded corset around her torso. 

“Does my Lady want her corset tight laced?” Sansa asked, a bubble of laughter leaking up at the end of the question. Jeyne nodded and Sansa pulled on the cords like one would the reins of a horse. Jeyne let out a gasp of pain and Sansa laughed again. Jeyne briefly thought her Lady was mocking her until she heard Sansa say “Sweet Jeyne, this isn’t even the worst of it.” 

There was a solid press in the center of Jeyne’s back and she heard Sansa grunt with effort as the corset cinched ever tighter. She felt Sansa wobble and try to keep her balance as she pulled on the cords. Finally, when Jeyne thought she would never get a full breath again, Sansa took her knee off of Jeyne’s back, tied the cords into neat knots, and sighed. 

“There,” Sansa said, rubbing her hand up Jeyne’s cinched waist. “All tight-laced, my Lady. Shall I fetch your gown? I think the lavender gown from Dorne would be lovely on you!”

"Yes, my maid," Jeyne gasped as she ran her hands down her front. Her breasts were almost at her chin but the fine golden fabric of the corset made her feel…decadent. Like a sweet all decorated and ready to be eaten.

And there was hunger in Sansa’s eyes. 

 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

“My Uncle tells me I’m marrying the Count,” Sansa said quietly as she helped Jeyne out of the lavender gown. “He says the Count does business with the Lannisters and the Targaryans, and that those deals could close faster with the niece of Lord Baelish on his arm.”

“The Count is handsome, My Lady,” Jeyne offered as Sansa unlaced her corset. “With a title! You’d be a lovely Countess.”

_You’d be a lovely inmate in an asylum at Casterly Rock_. 

“And the wedding, My Lady!” Jeyne was trying to keep Sansa focused on the positive aspects of the union. “We can get you a new- a new gown from—“

“I don’t to marry the Count,” Sansa said roughly, gloved hands unkind as they ripped the corset from Jeyne’s body. “He’s..”

_A dullard? A dolt? Dastardly, dumbass, done with his shit._

“My Lady?” Jeyne prompted, turning to face Sansa. The rough wool of Jeyne’s dress on Sansa made her look pale, like a fine doll in cheap clothes from the gutter. “The Count is…”

“A man,” Sansa spat. “With rough hands and ugh! The lust in his eyes is revolting. He sees me as a toy for his leisure and play.”

“My Lady,” Jeyne cupped Sansa’s chin in her hand. “The Count is a fine man. He will treat you with love and-and kindness and—“

Sansa kissed her. Her lips trembled, awkward as Jeyne was still trying to speak. “Show me, my little maid,” Sansa whispered, lips brushing against Jeyne’s. “Pretend you’re him. How would you— would you love me?”

A brief image flashed in Jeyne’s mind of taking Sansa back to the home she lived in, with aunts and babies and cousins. Sansa, in a rough cotton dress, cradling a baby on her hip. Sansa, the former Lady, helping with washings on Sundays. Sansa, helping Jeyne con money from the stupid men on the road. Sansa. Sansa. Sansa.

“Sansa,” Jeyne whispered. “ _Sansa_.”


	3. Chapter 3

Her Lady tasted of sweets. The sweetness between Sansa’s quivering thighs was addicting, and Jeyne lapped at her quickly. Sansa was vulnerable like this, not only nude and exposed, but her external armor of tightly coiled hair and impersonal gloves had been shed in the heat of passion. She flushed a darling shade of pink as Jeyne peeled her layers away. Jeyne whispered love and affection into the trembling softness of Sansa’s body, kissing her way down from her breasts, to the sweetness between her thighs. 

“My Lady!” Jeyne gasped wetly, rubbing her slick mouth against Sansa’s inner thigh. “If only the Count—“

“Don’t,” Sansa gasped, exposed fingers grasping at Jeyne’s mussed hair. “Just—“

Jeyne understood. Now was not the time for games, only pleasure and intimacy. Harry might try and get his dirty hands on the porcelain sweetness of Sansa’s body on another day, but for tonight, the Lady belonged to Jeyne and only Jeyne. 

She worked on keeping her tongue flat, something for Sansa to grind against. The sensations were new to the Lady, as she thrashed against the pillows, soft questioning noises coming out of her mouth. Jeyne had to keep a light grip on Sansa’s hips to keep her in place as she suckled on her clit. She found Sansa liked it best when Jeyne used a hint of her teeth against the sensitive flesh and Jeyne basked in the husky groans of pleasure from her Lady. Sansa came with a dark, satisfied noise, hips grinding against Jeyne’s willing mouth. 

Jeyne kept licking, sweet, soft licks as Sansa whined at the overstimulation. Jeyen never wanted to leave this bed, warm with the cloying scent of her Lady. She wanted to see Sansa as a wild woman, nude and confident. She wanted to give Sansa pleasure whenever her Lady wanted it and receive pleasure from her Lady in return. She never wanted the taste of Sansa out of her mouth, her scent out of her nose, the feel of her under her hands. When Sansa’s thighs gripped around her neck like a vice, tendons thick with pain, Jeyne untangled herself from the cradle of Sansa’s pale thighs. 

“My Lady,” she said triumphantly, wiping the wetness from her chin and mouth on the back of her wrist. She found herself throbbing and soaking but dared not ask anything from the Lady. It was a night for Sansa’s pleasure, not her own. She was perfectly content to put on her plain blue robes and return to her sleeping closet to rub at herself until sleep overtook her. 

But Sansa’s hands, trembling but sure, were pulling Jeyne in for a kiss, deep and promising. She didn’t flinch at the taste of herself in Jeyne’s mouth and her hands were savage as they gripped Jeyne’s body. Her nails raked against Jeyne’s sensitive nipples and curious hands smoothed down the sides of her stomach. She touched Jeyne’s swollen cunt briefly and Jeyne almost whined sadly when Sansa pulled her hand away. 

“I want—“ Sansa gasped, maneuvering Jeyne’s legs. “I saw in a book—“ They fumbled into the position Sansa wanted but eventually Sansa was able to slot herself between Jeyne’s legs as she rubbed their cunts together. Both of them were unsure in the position— Jeyne had never even considered that it could be done this way— but the satisfaction was undeniable as theyboth cried out, hands gripping each other as an anchor. 

“My Lady,” Jeyne gasped, feeling her toes curl in anticipation. She could feel her orgasm starting to slowly burn its way through her body, but wanted Sansa to feel the same pleasure over and over and over and—

“I know,” Sansa gasped, hips stuttering. “My little maid.” She closed her eyes, head tilted back. “My little maid. My-my doll. My Jeyne,” she whispered, rubbing against Jeyne as she came again. 

Jeyne wasn’t sure if Sansa even knew was she was saying, but as the pleasure overtook her, she heard one word escaping from her mouth.

“ _Sansa_.”


	4. Chapter 4

The following morning, Jeyne rose early to dress and prepare Sansa for the day. Neither said anything about the night before, but the air between them was cordial. There was a tenseness in Sansa’s shoulders that Jeyne suspected came from the fact that she was to spend the day with Harry in a mockery of a courting.

“What dress do you think you’d like to wear for today, My Lady?” Jeyne asked, fumbling with the doors to Sansa’s expansive closet.

“What-what color does the Count like?” Sansa peered at Jeyne over her bared shoulder. She was still damp and chilled from her rose-scented bath that morning and Jeyne wanted nothing more than to push the Lady back into her sheets and keep her there all day. Nude and giggling, the two of them ignoring their duties to feed each other ripe fruits and fine wine, exploring sensitive spots and ticklish touches—

“Jeyne. I asked you a question.”

Jeyne stuttered. “I-I’m sorry. I think the Count will like any color you wear, My Lady!”

“I’m feeling green today,” Sansa said quietly. “Fetch me my green gown, will you? It’s the one with the beading. It was a gift from Cersei Lannister last solstice.”

“Cersei Lannister!” Jeyne gasped in faked admiration. Everyone knew that Cersei was nothing more than a well-bred whore with a title but her name still carried weight. 

“Don’t forget to be back here at 8pm sharp,” Sansa said tersely as Jeyne worked at the long row of buttons on the back of the lovely gown. “I’ll need your help to dress for the party my uncle is throwing tonight.”

“Will Cersei Lannister be there?” Jeyne asked, smoothing the fine fabric down, resisting the urge to let her hands linger on Sansa’s slim, corseted waist. 

“No,” Sansa pulled away from Jeyne quickly and with an air of annoyance. “It’s an auction.”

 

Jeyne stood with the other maids and help at the back of the dining room, watching helplessly as Harry fumbled through his seduction of Sansa. He knew he was charming, all strong jaw and golden hair, dashing eyes that saw through any woman he pleased and heartwarming dimples to bring her coming back to him. But all Jeyne wanted was to slap him on his rosy cheeks and threaten to cut his cock off with the knife he was using to smear jam onto his toast. 

She and Harry grew up together, potentially cousins through the web of crime families they came from. She fell for his charms when they were youths, letting him steal kisses as easily as he stole from pockets and shops. Her aunt pulled her aside when she was 13 and said that she was going soft and that all men would tell her honeyed words and starry promises if it meant that they could get what they wanted from women. Her aunt twisted Jeyne’s arm behind her back, shoulder forced at an odd and unnatural angle, and told her to never let men like Harry get the best of her.

“You’re too smart for men, Jeyne,” her aunt told her. “Don’t let them tell you otherwise.”

She and Harry had been doing trial runs for this job for years, whether they knew it or not. Jeyne would braid her hair up nicely and pinch her cheeks red as she played the stranded well-to-do lady who just needed a ride to town, as her horse was injured. Harry would be by her side, dirt smeared on his face as Jeyne explained he was just her horseman who was mute as a result of being kicked in the head by the beasts one too many times. 

While some poor sod was distracted by the slick glances of Jeyne’s upper thighs through her artfully torn gown, Harry would whack them over the head with whatever was heaviest, ensuring that the target would wake up with nothing more than a splitting headache. They’d split whatever was in the man’s pockets and bicker over who deserved more on their walk back to their slums.

And so Jeyne watched, hands clenched in the fabric of her robes, as Harry laughed unnecessarily loudly at Sansa’s subtle jokes with his arm slung heavily over the back of her chair. He leaned in, chest puffed out like some kind of demented peacock, trying to tower over Sansa. But the Lady, while a petite woman, knew how to hold her spine rigid, shoulders back. While Harry did his best to make her disappear in his shadow, she somehow managed to stay out of his reach. 

And that damn uncle, Baelish. Jeyne hadn’t spoken more than two words to him and, if she was being honest, she didn’t want to. His office was located in a basement beneath this queer home that Jeyne was firmly instructed to never go near. With his title bought and paid for, he spent most of his time rebinding old books, some in languages that nobody even spoke anymore. He sold these books for great sums, but Jeyne still had no idea what made those damn books so valuable.

He also did his best to keep a strong grip on Sansa’s hand. He wore leather gloves, a harsh contrast to the fine cotton on Sansa’s hands, but Jeyne was certain she could hear the creak of her Lady’s birdlike bones from her spot in the back of the room. And Sansa, for all her tact, never once flinched when Baelish’s hand tightened. 

And here Jeyne stood, watching as Harry kept a heavy, uncouth hand on Sansa’s thigh while Baelish kept a viselike grip on her hand. She was being pulled and pushed by two men who had no right to put their hands on her and it took all of Jeyne’s willpower not to scream and bash their faces in with the fine china spread before them. 

 

After breakfast, Jeyne was sent to a wing of the house to help with the washing. She could see Sansa, changed from emerald green into autumn gold, walking the ground of the mansion arm in arm with Harry. That uncle was nowhere to be seen, but Jeyne felt like he was probably always watching. Instead, Jeyne got a firm hand to the back of her skull as an old woman scolded her for not paying enough attention.

At least she got to see Sansa briskly walk away from Harry’s puckered mouth, leaving the dolt to stand under a broad tree stupidly, unaware that his target was heading back towards the mansion. 

 

“Where were you born, my maid?” Sansa asked as Jeyne brushed her long auburn hair. She was dressed in a soft dressing gown, seated at her vanity. Her hands rummaged through cosmetics and hairpins, shaking with nerves as Jeyne dressed her for the auction.

“The slums, my Lady,” Jeyne said honestly. Harry was the Count. She was the maid. Maids could be from the slums. “Up north.”

“Up north?’

“Yes, my Lady. I don’t like the climate down here. It’s too—“

“Humid,” Sansa finished, eyes catching Jeyne’s in the mirror. “It’s too humid down here. It feels like you’re drowning in water.” There was brightness in Sansa’s eyes, tears threatening to fall.

“Yes. How-how did you know?”

“I was born up north, at Winterfell House.”

Of course. Winterfell House. The Lannisters. 15 years ago, there was a fire and—

“Holy shit,” was all Jeyne could say, brush falling out of her hands. 

Sansa nodded, a sob catching in her chest. 

“My Lady,” Jeyne said sadly, hoping all of her emotions about everything went into that title. “Sansa—“

“I was with the Lannisters at the time,” Sansa explained, wiping her eyes. “They told me the fire was an accident. I was 5 years old and next thing I knew, my aunt and her new husband were bringing me here. My aunt was dead three years later. Uncle Petyr told me it was a suicide but I knew. My aunt was a crazed woman, delusional and irrational, but she never would have done that.”

A pause. Jeyne twisted the hairbrush around in her hands.

“Never mind,” Sansa swallowed. “We’re running late. Uncle Petyr won’t be happy if I’m late.”

Jeyne wondered exactly what, or who, was up for auction.

**Author's Note:**

> written for Megan.


End file.
